


Just Friends

by cavalry



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Childhood Friends, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavalry/pseuds/cavalry
Summary: They've been best friends their entire lives. That's all they are, right?
Relationships: Fols | Forsyth/Python
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Just Friends

Things changed between them when they were fifteen.

Over the course of the past year, puberty had descended quite suddenly upon them both, and hadn’t released its hold yet. Python seemed to be growing taller by the day, and couldn’t seem to eat enough to catch up. The women in town constantly remarked how skinny he was, and it was true; his elbows were bony and his knees were knobby, and his gait was newly awkward, like he wasn’t used to his height yet.

Forysth was growing taller too, and on top of that, his shoulders were broadening and he seemed to be putting on more muscle every day. He scarcely recognized himself in the mirror. He was looking less and less like his bookish father, about which he felt a guilty sort of satisfaction. If he was to be a knight he would need to be strong. 

His father hadn't allowed him any weapons, of course. His face went pinched and unhappy every time Forsyth asked, so he quit asking. He would play in the woods with sticks instead. There was one he had deemed about the length of a sword, and he would jab it at invisible enemies, imagining how fine he would look with a suit of armor and a proper blade.

He had another stick—a fallen branch, more like—that he would pretend was a lance. Today he was practicing with it, planting his feet and throwing his whole body into each thrust. Unfortunately he didn't have a proper target. He had tried that before, stabbing at trees and bushes, but more often than not, it would end with a broken stick, so now he imagined enemies. Bam, there was an enemy knight with dark, ominous armor. Bam, there was a smirking villain with a hostage in tow.

"Ugh, I don't understand how you can stand doing that in this heat."

Forsyth stopped his swing, intending to disagree, and realized that it WAS quite hot. His shirt was nearly soaked through with sweat. He made his way over to where Python was lounging in the shade and picked up his waterskin, taking a hearty swig.

"Seriously, you done yet?" Python asked. "Let's go take a dip in the stream. It's like a million degrees out."

"Training waits for no one and nothing!" Forsyth declared grandly, wiping a bit of water from his chin. "A knight never knows the conditions he may have to fight under. He may have to fight in heat, or cold, or pouring rain." A moment of inspiration strikes him. "You should join me, Python!"

"Ugh. Pass."

"You may one day have to fight in scorching heat, and if your body isn't used to it—"

"Guess I'll die," said Python, placing the book he was reading over his face to block out sunlight, slouching even lower against the tree trunk.

"D—Don't even joke about that!"

"What, dying? It's just the truth. Wake me up when you're done here."

Forsyth went back to air-jousting with more vehemence than is strictly necessary. Dueling was better with a partner, even one as half-hearted as Python, but he had only convinced Python to join him a handful of times, when boredom overcame laziness.

Bam, there was a Terror, like the one from the stories his father had read him. Bam, there was a gargoyle, descending through the trees—and another, and another. Forsyth jabbed at one then whirled around with his play-lance. Inspired, he wound up and hurled it through the air like a javelin. He jogged to retrieve it, and bent down to pick it up.

When he stood back up, a wave of dizziness overcame him. He managed to hold himself upright for a moment, but the trees around him only seemed to be tilting more and more.

 _Oh, I’m falling_ , he thought, and fell.

—

He woke up in what he recognized as the healer's clinic. He stared at the ceiling. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was going to bed last night... no, that wasn’t right. He remembered training in the woods, but where did he go after that?

"You dumbass," said Python, with more vehemence than Forsyth has ever heard from him.

He turned to look. Python was sitting in a chair at his siding, looking deadly serious. It was an odd expression on him.

"You're such," said Python, "a dumbass."

"What happened?" Forsyth blinked, and his vision blurred for a moment. That… probably wasn’t good.

"Dehydration, exhaustion, possibly heat stroke. I TOLD you to take a break."

“Oh, I fainted.”

“You better believe you did.” Python was bristling with… anger? Forsyth had seen him annoyed plenty of times (mostly at him), but never real anger like this. It made him shrink back against his pillow.

That was the moment Miss Ivy appeared, with a basket of supplies tucked under her arm. She was the town’s healer, gray-haired with smile lines around her eyes, versed in herbal medicine and a bit of healing magic. Forsyth liked her. Sometimes she would bake honey-treats, and she would always slip him one when he passed her window.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” She smiled. “Python, dear, can you fetch him some water?”

“Yeah,” said Python, slipping out of his seat and going off in search of some. Forsyth didn’t think he had ever seen Python be so immediately compliant. He normally whined, slouched, had some sarcastic comment.

Miss Ivy sat beside him and offered him a bit of willow bark. She’d always had a grandmotherly sort of presence, and Forsyth couldn’t help but be soothed in spite of his pounding head and bewilderment at Python’s behavior.

“He was terrified, you know. He tried to carry you but couldn’t, so he came sprinting into town, hollering at the top of his lungs. I thought we were under attack!”

It was hard to imagine, but it made sense with how he was acting. Forsyth felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t meant to frighten Python like that.

“I’ll apologize,” he said, well chastened. Miss Ivy patted his hand.

—

Forsyth's parents reluctantly agreed to let him keep training, with the caveat that Python had to chaperone him (he always did, anyway), and that he had to listen to Python whenever he said to take a break.

Python was unbearably smug about it. "You hear that?" he says, their first day out in the woods since Forsyth’s collapse. "I'm in charge now."

Python delighted in making him take breaks at odd times. One day he insisted on a break two minutes after Forsyth had started training. Another day, he tried to take four breaks in a row, with only a breath of training time in between.

“I didn’t come out here to sit under a tree, Python,” Forsyth huffed, stomping off to retrieve his stick.

“Whoa, hey, where are you going?” There was a tinge of fear in Python’s voice that he hadn’t expected. He turned back to regard him, and saw Python’s eyes as wide as a cornered rabbit.

_He’s worried. He’s acting like an ass, but he’s actually worried._

“Python,” he said, “I promise I’ll take breaks _when I actually need them_. Okay?”

Python glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck. Self-conscious. It was another expression that looked odd on him. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “But make sure you do, dammit!”

—

It was a few weeks later and the dead of summer. Forsyth had started training early in the morning, and a few hours later the heat of the day was truly starting to descend upon them.

“Okay, break time,” said Python, dropping the bit of wood he had been absentmindedly whittling. “Hey, let’s go swimming."

Forsyth was about to protest, but swimming could actually be a good workout, and in any case, he _was_ rather hot. There was a bit of spring that ran through the woods that they had often played in when they were younger, though as they grew older they had gotten tired of it. 

Python shucked off his shirt and slid in in one easy motion.

Forsyth followed him, though he was more cautious wading in. “This water is so _cold,_ Python. How can you stand it?”

“What water? This water?” Without warning Python splashed him in a great sweeping arc. It hit Forsyth square in the face, and he sputtered indignantly.

“Python! I wasn’t ready!”

“Uh, yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

Forsyth glowered for a moment, then splashed back. Python was waiting, though, and danced back, the water barely touching him. Things quickly devolved into a splash fight, and before long they were both soaked. They heaved themselves to a rocky outcropping on the side of the spring.

Python’s wet hair was hanging in his face, and he looked, Forsyth, thought, a bit like a wet puppy. It was cute.

"Hey," Python asked, in a tone Forsyth recognized as Intentionally Casual. It was the tone he used when he was lying to his parents or trying to charm his way out of trouble. "Have you ever kissed anybody?"

Forsyth went immediately red. Maybe, he hoped, his sunburn covered it.

"Wh—What in the world do you—"

"You. Kiss. Not that complicated a concept."

Forsyth mumbled something vague and incomprehensible. "We... we're quite young though." He said, sounding more uncertain than he meant. Was Python about to tell him about all the people he had kissed already? His gaze darted every way but at Python.

"Hey. Look at me."

Forsyth looked.

Python looked uncharacteristically serious. More serious than Forsyth had ever seen him, barring the time he had collapsed in the woods. That time he had been angry, though, and this time he just looked focused. Intense. It reminded Forsyth of the rare instances he had convinced Python to train with him. Python's weapon of choice had always been the bow, and he was actually good at it when he put his mind to trying. There was a moment when he drew the string back, before he released, that he went very still, and he reminded Forsyth in a way of the snake that was his namesake—like a _hunter_.

"I've been thinking," said Python. "About kissing."

A shiver ran down Forsyth’s spine. "And...?"

"Wanna try it?"

Dead silence. Forsyth could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

"Wh—”

Python scooted closer, so they were sitting hip to hip, knee to knee. Forsyth was trembling, and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of his wet clothes.

"Not that hard a question, buddy.”

He was pretty sure his heart was about to explode. Python was just looking at him with that patient, intense look.

"I, uh, uh—"

"You know you can say no."

"If I wanted to say no I would have said it already!"

A pause. Then a slow, self-satisfied grin.

"So is that a yes?"

Python leaned in slowly, slow enough to give Forsyth time to move away. He didn’t move. Python’s lips met his and hovered there for a moment. Forsyth went stock-still. The moment was a soap bubble in the hand, and Forsyth was afraid that if he moved it would burst.

Python pulled back and seemed to evaluate him, still looking at him with those inscrutable eyes. “What’s the matter? You’re stiffer than a corpse.” 

“I, um, I don’t really… know what to…” Forsyth trailed off.

“ _Relax_ , for one. Just do what feels right.”

Python kissed him again, and Forsyth made a concentrated effort to untense his muscles. Python pulled back, looking like he had tasted something sour. 

“...What?” asked Forsyth.

“You’re doing it again!”

It was probably true, Forsyth realized. He had been so focused on not tensing up that he hadn’t really… moved. At all. Not even a hair’s breadth. 

Python looked at his expression and burst into laughter. 

“It’s not _that_ funny,” said Forsyth, a little indignant.

Python jostled his shoulder affectionately. “Only you, my friend,” he said. “Well, whatever. We have plenty of time to practice.”

 _Practice?_ Forsyth thought. He was sure he was as red as a berry.

—

That night he sat at the dinner table feeling like his parents could see everything. He had been _kissed_. By _Python_. It was fizzing under his skin, a secret he was at once both gleeful to keep and desperate to tell. 

He kissed _another boy_.

Things had been weird lately, with puberty and all. He'd been having... dreams. And weird thoughts. Some of it involving Python. His father had told him that his humours would be going crazy for the next few years, though, so that was what he had chalked it up to. An unbalanced body, too much blood and not enough phlegm.

Now that they had kissed, though, it was like all of those feelings had been reframed.

The girls in the village were nice, and pretty, he supposed, but he had never had a crush on one of them. “Just wait,” his father had said, but the girls still seemed as distant to him as ever. Nothing like...

Python, who he leapt out of bed every morning to meet. Python, over whom he agonized every time they had a spat (though they never seemed to last long). Python, who, even though he thought Forsyth’s dreams were silly, would encourage him like nobody else.

Python, who had kissed him today.

“What are you smiling about?” asked his father. 

“Oh! Um, nothing. Just thinking about, um,” he tried to think of a convincing lie, but it seemed in that moment his brain had abandoned him. “Python. I mean, this joke Python said today!”

“Oh,” said his father, looking at him expectantly, and Forsyth realized with horror that his father _was waiting to hear the joke_. “I mean, um, i-it really only made sense in context… it probably… wouldn’t be very funny if I retold it—”

“Do you like the peas?” said his mother. “I picked them this just morning.” Forsyth loved her very dearly in that moment.

Mercifully, they got through dinner.

He lay in bed that night wide awake. _He kissed me,_ he thought. _That means he likes me, right? Do I like him?_ He took the thought and held it for a moment, feeling it out. He had never liked anyone before, so he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like, but surely this must be it. This warm, buzzy excitement, mixed with nervousness and uncertainty.

It took him a very long time to fall asleep.

—

“Alright, break time,” said Python, the next day he was training. Forsyth had shown up awkwardly, not sure what to say or what had changed between them, but Python had treated him like it was business as usual.

“I don’t need a break, I—”

“Get your butt over here and get some water.”

Forsyth obliged, but when he reached down for the waterskin, Python grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him in and kissed him.

“Wh—what was that?” Forsyth asked, face hot.

“What, you didn’t like it?” Python’s tone was casual, but Forsyth knew him well enough to hear the vein of uncertainty underneath.

“I… no, I was just… surprised—”

Python looked a bit smug. “That’s your reward for taking a break. Maybe that will encourage you to take more of them? Hm?”

Forsyth flushed at the thought, but didn’t fall into his trap. “Hah! I don’t need breaks OR kisses! I’m a future knight, and a knight needs nothing but a lance and liege!”

Python rolled his eyes. “Mila save me; this again?”

So he said, but he did end up taking his breaks that day.

Perhaps a few more than usual.

—

“Who do you suppose they are?” asked Python one day. The sun was setting, which meant supper would be soon, but they were in no hurry to get back home. They were lounging on a hill that overlooked the town, listening to the crickets. The heat of the day had cooled off, Forsyth’s muscles were pleasantly tired, and he was laying on the grass with the boy he liked. Just the thought of it gave his heart a warm clench.

From their vantage point they could see the cart path that led into town. There were three strangers there: a man, tall and tan and broad-shouldered, who likely did some kind of manual labor. A woman nearly as sturdily built. And a skinny boy behind them, leading a cow.

“Travelers passing through?” said Forsyth. “Or perhaps they’re selling milk?”

They watched the family for a while. They weren’t particularly interested, but it was a way to pass the time.

—

It turned out the new family had just arrived to _live_ here. This wasn’t a frequent occurrence for a sleepy town like theirs, so of course everyone was eager to gossip about the newcomers.

The couple’s names were Buck and Willow. They had been dairy farmers until, over the course of only a few days, their field shriveled up. They tried to plant new grasses but nothing would take. The soil had gone as barren as sand.

Their son was named Shale. He was fourteen, the same age as Forsyth and Python, with shaggy, unkempt hair and a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

There was something about him Forsyth immediately disliked. Perhaps it was how much he smirked, or how disrespectfully he spoke to adults. Perhaps it was the fact that Python was immediately drawn to him. 

Forsyth and Python were best friends, after all, and had been since they could barely walk. There were a few other children in town their age, and they had all taken lessons together when they were younger, but they never became proper friends. The other children found Forsyth too overbearing, Python too abrasive.

And so it had just been the two of them. It was an arrangement that suited Forsyth perfectly well. None of the other children understood him the way Python did.

Suddenly, though, there was a deviation in the arrangement. One day Forsyth knocked on his door to pick him up on the way to the woods, only to be told by his mother that he had left with Shale earlier.

“Oh,” said Forsyth, so taken aback he didn’t know how to respond. “Um. Alright.”

Another day, Forsyth and Python were sitting on the hilltop, when Shale showed up, ambling up the hill without a care in the world. The sight of him set Forsyth irrationally on edge.

“Hey,” said Shale. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” said Python, pulling himself up to a seated position.

“Where are we going?” asked Forsyth. Python and Shale just looked at him awkwardly, and Forsyth realized with embarrassment that he hadn’t been invited. 

“Shale is showing me this cave he found in the woods,” said Python. “I didn’t think you’d be interested, so…”

“A cave?” asked Forsyth. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Python sighed and patted him on the shoulder as he stood. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I knew you’d be too much of a goodie two-shoes to be into something like this.”

“I am _not_ a goodie two-shoes!” protested Forsyth, voice cracking. Python and Shale were already walking down the hill. Python lifted one hand without looking back, a wave goodbye.

It was fine, Forsyth told himself as he shuffled home alone that night. It was good that Python had made another friend! Wasn’t it?

-

A few weeks later, Forsyth stopped by Python’s house only to be told again that he had left with Shale earlier.

“I think they were going to the meadow?” said his mother. 

Forsyth set off for the meadow, already irritated. Python had _barely_ been training with him lately, and he had _promised_ he would this week, and yet here he was again, off doing who-knows-what.

Perhaps he was a bit jealous after all. Python and Shale were friends, but Python and Forsyth were _best_ friends. (Weren’t they?) It wasn’t that he felt he was being left behind, but, well… 

A little reassurance would be nice.

The meadow was up ahead, and Forsyth picked up the pace, already imagining what he would say. The two of them were probably whittling, or eating blackberries straight off the bush, or something else that was a waste of time, but surely when Python saw him he would say, “I _knew_ I had something to do today!” and leap to his feet, and they could have another training day like they used to.

“Python?” Forsyth called, “Are you there—?”

Forsyth stepped into the meadow. Python was there, as was Shale. They were sitting together, Shale in the crook of Python’s arm, kissing lazily. They broke apart at the sound of Forsyth’s approach, but neither seemed particularly embarrassed about being interrupted.

Forsyth stood there gaping. 

“Oh,” said Python, “hey.”

“ _Hey_?”

Python wiped the saliva off his mouth. “Um… yeah?” He didn’t look guilty, just genuinely surprised, and in one horrible moment Forsyth realized he had gotten things terribly wrong.

“Excuse me,” he said, with more bite than he meant, and turned to go.

“Hey, Fors! What gives?” He could hear Python following him, but he didn’t wait up. He blinked fiercely, trying in vain to hold back tears. He didn’t want Python to see him crying. Goddess, he was such a _fool_ —

“Forsyth!” said Python, grabbing him by the arm. Forsyth had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed the other boy had caught up to him. “Forsyth, where in Mila’s name are you _going_?” Forsyth turned to face him, and Python looked taken aback by his tears.

“I’m leaving,” spat Forsyth, “because _clearly_ I was intruding. I can tell where I’m not wanted. Pardon me for interrupting you and your new—your new—”

“Forsyth,” said Python. “Did you think we were courting?” 

The question knocked the wind out of him. 

He had realized, to a degree, as soon as he saw the other two together, but hearing it out loud was another thing entirely.

“We kissed a few times,” continued Python. “I thought we were just messing around. I should have realized you’d think there was more to it; I know how you get.”

“How I _get_?” he managed.

“You know. There are no half measures with you. It’s all or nothing.” Python looked vaguely apologetic. The sight filled Forsyth with something like anger, or perhaps it was shame.

“Well, I’m sorry for _being too enthusiastic_ ,” he said. His voice broke halfway through. It sounded, even to his own ears, quite pathetic.

“Fors,” said Python, but Forsyth was already storming off.

—

Forsyth arrived home in a huff. “Fight with Python?” his mother asked sympathetically. They had had a number of spats over the years, but in hindsight most of them felt quite silly. This was different. This time, he was sure their friendship itself was at stake.

Forsyth lay in bed miserably that night. He realized, to a degree, that Python was right. They had never discussed anything about courting. A few of their schoolmates were dating each other, and those courtships were public knowledge. Skye and Aspen. Amber and Basil. They held hands in the market and cuddled in the garden. Adults around town would joke about which couple would be married first. Compared to them, the two of them felt quite quaint. At the end of the day, they truly had only kissed a few times.

So perhaps it was his fault for assuming.

What almost stung more were Python’s words, echoing in his head. _I know how you get_. True, Forsyth was enthusiastic, perhaps even overly so. He had chosen his dream at age five and hadn’t wavered. He was the only person he knew who had actually passed out from training too hard. His whole life, his parents had told him to keep his voice down, stop shouting, stop running. Was Python right? Was the problem him?

He didn’t expect Python to apologize. Python had notoriously bad manners, and he was hardly the sort to be proactive. That meant it would be up to Forsyth to repair their relationship.

He wasn’t quite ready to do that, though. His heart still stung.

He would go when he was ready.

—

Python surprised him, though, and knocked on their door the next day.

“Dear,” said his mother, “Python, is here to see you!”

Forsyth froze. What was he to _say_ to him? How was he to face him, after making a fool of himself like last time? He considered asking his mother to tell Python that he was sick, or not home, but dismissed the idea. Knights did not run from danger, after all.

Python was waiting for him at the door looking uncommonly serious. 

“Hey,” he said, “can we talk? Somewhere private.” 

Forsyth absolutely did not want his parents to overhear whatever was about to happen (and quite possibly whatever fight they were about to have), so they walked outside town, to the hill where they often sat.

It was the hill they had first spotted Shale and his family on, Forsyth thought resentfully. In a sense, it was where this whole thing had begun.

He was gathering his courage, steeling himself for an apology he wasn’t quite ready to give, but in the second surprise of the day, Python beat him to it.

“Look,” he said. “I owe you an apology.”

Forsyth was so taken aback he could only squeak out a “...what?”

“I told myself it was harmless. That it was just a few kisses, and it didn’t mean anything. But I know you. I should have known you’d think it was more.”

“You know _how I get_ , after all” said Forsyth, unable to stop the bitterness from leaking about. Python turned to look at him sharply.

“Yeah, and that’s not a bad thing. You’re too enthusiastic, I’m not enthusiastic enough. We balance each other out.”

Forsyth couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.

“Seriously,” Python continued, “I don’t think I’d ever do _anything_ if you didn’t force me to. And if you want to have any sort of shot at achieving your dream, that’s how you’ve got to be. One hundred percent, all the time.” He rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. “So, uh. Look. I really wasn’t trying to play games with your heart or anything, but I realized I kind of did, so. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” said Forsyth grandly. His heart felt a thousand times lighter. “So, truce? Are we friends again?" He extended his arm for a fist bump, which Python gave him.

"We never stopped being friends," said Python, "Although if we want things to go back to the way things were, we should probably set some ground rules. No more kissing. We're just friends."

“Right,” said Forsyth. “Just friends.”

**Author's Note:**

> Narrator voice: They did not remain just friends.
> 
> When I first played SOV I thought, “So Forsyth and Python have an on-again, off-again thing, right?” I read them as squabbling exes/lovers who were also best friends. Since they’ve grown up together, and have been a major part of each other’s lives for basically their whole lives, I decided they first had an awkward and short-lived romance as teens. This fic will be taking place over their whole lives though, so it will catch up to canon soon enough.
> 
> A note on names: Zofian commoners tend to have short words for names, many of them nature-related. We have Python and Forsyth (“Force” in the JP version) themselves, as well as Gray, Kliff, Tobin (“Robin” in JP), Faye (based on fey, maybe?), Silque, and Luthier.
> 
> Meanwhile, nobles tend to have names that don’t doubt as words—Clive, Mathilda, Clair, Fernand, Celica, Conrad, etc.
> 
> Based on this, I gave the supporting cast all nature-related names.


End file.
